Seduction of a King
by Stuffwell359
Summary: A king out of control. One Dally to stop it. An Alternate Universe where the PAW Patrol find themselves in a medieval world where Chase is the ruthless ruler. What must they do to turn the tables?
1. Chapter 1

Seduction of a King

Chapter 1

 **Marshall's POV**

It's time for me to perform again. The king watches me with a dull glint in his brown eyes. As all the other times have gone, he'll only be amused if I mess up. And so... the cycle continues, whether it's of my own will or not. I have three balls with me of varying colors. Red, Green, and Blue. Pretty stereotypical colors, but their usual bright saturation brings forth a dazzling view for the King. Especially when one of them hits me...

Taking the red and blue one in one paw respectively, and the green in the other, I stand upon two hind legs, balancing myself before I begin. One deep breath in, my chest rises and falls, and then release... here we go. I toss the balls in the air, making that mesmerizing motion where one can get lost in the movement of my throws, and then it dawns on me. The bells on my red jester hat jingle as I focus my gaze upward, but the thing is, my eyes may be attentive, but my mind never is. It only has one objective when performing: thinking of the King. No, not just thinking... _lusting_ , for the King. Yes, you heard me correctly, I love Chase, the ruler of Adventure Bay. However... I don't love the current version because...

"Ack!" The dreaded red ball strikes again. This time, square on my schnoz. Wincing, my head now directed toward the stone floor, I rub it and mutter, "Ow... again?"

My head lifts as laughter echoes off the Throne room walls. It further responds with a slight tilt and a confused expression to boot. To this day... I don't know why he finds it so damn funny. "What is it, Your Majesty?"

Sitting upon his golden throne, sleek and shiny and metallic all over, the German shepherd scoffs and grins. The crown adorned with rare jewels slips back to its proper position as his head slips back down, the humor dissipating. "Heh, why do you ask that every time when you _know_ exactly why I'm laughing?"

I return to sitting on my hindquarters. "It seems fitting, Your Majesty, since I'm always baffled that I let it happen every time."

"Right, right." The shepherd hops off his throne and stalks to me. His white fangs gleam as a grin climbs up his muzzle. "Your mistakes always amuse me, Marshall. Don't ever change. It's so satisfying to hear that ball crack you in the face or you suddenly run out of breath while playing the trumpet, resulting in the funniest sound no man has ever heard but me. The King."

I glance away, my expression stern, emotionless. He's close now, the patter of his paw pads on the stone grow louder every second. My heartbeat hastens. It's never fun when he gets close. His touch sends shivers down my spine. They aren't good ones. I will my head to look forward, have my blue eyes meet with his own. His snout is nearly touching mine, that slaphappy grin still stuck on his face like it was glued there. A part of me likes it this near to my own muzzle. To have his lips on mine. And yet... in this context, no. I don't. "Your performance is over. You fucked up again. Get out of my throne room. You no longer amuse me."

My breath hitches in my throat. Eyes well up, but I stare him down. Down below my head, I'm slightly trembling. But I, will not, show, fear. Taking my pride with me, I swivel my body around, huffing as I do, and I begin to trot out of the throne room. Hopefully some of my dignity exits with me. When I near the large wooden double doors, one creaks open, and I'm taken aback, my body jolting in response. Who could it be? Is it Francois again? That damn Jester always tries to steal my spotlight, my Chase, my love. It's too bad he changed for the worse... No. No use dwelling upon the past. I need to work on the present; I have a mission, and I will succeed.

A light furred head pokes through the opening. A cockapoo, to be exact. Skye. On instinct, my spotted body moves aside to let her in, my expression not wavering the slightest as she walks inside. The silence irks me, makes every sound in this room louder than it needs to be, more prevalent and exacerbated. It sickens me to my core. Rings in my ears. Surely I've gotten used to it by now; however, the urge to wince is still quite strong, and yet, I don't anymore. Maybe I'm just desensitized? That's probably it. Not yearning to be in this room any longer, I continue my way out, and I don't look back, as it is none of my business.

In the center of the Lookout stands a tall cylindrical stairwell, and it offers access to several floors with differing purposes. One floor, near the bottom, houses rooms for the six Royal servants. I am one of them, if you haven't guessed that simple fact already. If you truly didn't, you probably don't have much going on up there, now, do ya? Chuckling to myself at all the imaginary people I just offended, I clamber down the staircase toward the floor the author just mentioned a few sentences ago. Didn't catch it? Reread this paragraph over again. Needless to say, I'm going to keep climbing down these steps regardless of whether or not you approve of my humor. At long last, I reach the area I desire. Heading through the open archway and strolling around the circular area, I long for my room that is my own personal abode. It shelters me from the stresses I face daily. It's not just once a week I perform for Chase. It's every damn day. Time and time again, I encounter a new minor injury. Sometimes, though, it's more than that, either through my own error or the King hadn't been in a good mood. I am unable to please him at times with my own injuries, so he furthers the extent by... creating his own. I've walked out of there with blackened eyes, bruised paws, and even, yes, wounds.

As I trot into my room, the simplicity always fails to faze me, with its dull stone blocked walls and shoddy wooden desk lit only with a candle that could very well light the whole piece of crap ablaze if I'm not careful. The "bed" with a thin mattress lacking in anything resembling comfort sitting upon a wooden frame that, once again, can catch fire from the other shitty piece of wooden furniture near it. Dare I call it furniture? I stomp over to the desk and drive my paw into one of the legs: it shutters and creaks and groans under the pressure. Case in point, it's quite wobbly and unstable, leaving writing upon it a chore and unpleasant. The floor would be a better option, and when you really think about that, it's quite pathetic. My life is pathetic. I gently lift myself up onto the bed, since if I jumped on it, surely the impact would crack the frame in half, and the King is too much of a cheap ass to purchase anything for us, regardless of our needs.

My body moves on its own, and after a few circles, I lie down on the mattress. But I am not tired. My mind is just, getting, started. It likes to do this at times. Go on and on and on like some kind of weaving wheel that continues to spun thread even if it runs out. I sigh, placing my head down on the hard clothed surface. I want the old Chase back. Prince Chase. The one where he served our previous King and always tried his best to be loyal, compassionate, and gallant. I love him. Not the shepherd I know now. He's lost his way, become something he's not, and now... and now, I must get him back. Whatever the cost. But at this rate... with things are going as they are, my luck is running dry. Maybe it's hopeless to try and fight it. He's gone. Like I've said before, I can't dwell on the past.

My paw clenches the thin sheets below, creating crevices and wrinkles. I grimace. I groan. There's no giving up just yet. That's not an option. I know I can get through to him if I just perfect my routine. If I'm perfect and he has nothing to criticize, berate, or mock, then he would be furious. That's the only reason why he likes me now. To think I thought he liked me back then... I don't see any of his past self anymore. The new Chase has repressed all that resembles the old. But perhaps... if he reacts in the extremest of manners, then, he might just realize his errors. That split second epiphany is all I have left to hope for. But look around me. You haven't seen the shambles Adventure Bay has become.

 **Skye's POV**

"So, what do you have to report?" The King sits back on his throne, still as stone.

I stare him down, watch his eyes glower at me. His front paw creates incessant taps against the gold caress his cold metallic stool provides. "Well, Your Majesty, I have once again observed the general populace. I have one man to report suspicious behavior."

His head tilts upward, the whites of his eyes mostly exposed at the top, creating this psychological power struggle between us, as if he was trying to dominate the room. "Hmmmm? And who might this mystery person be?" His paw halts tapping and rests underneath his muzzle, the elbow of said paw placed against the armrest.

I sit my rump down and say, loud and clear, "Mr. Porter, Sir. I suspect that he is meddling with his bread inventory. It's off compared to what he's ordered and sold."

"I see. Well, he needs to be questioned, then. Bring him in. Have Zuma of the Royal Guard tag along with you for support, as little as that actually helps..."

I bow my head. "Yes, Your Majesty." Oh, boy, I get to bust another one with Zuma. Again. Oh, what fun.

 **Zuma's POV**

Guess I'm going on another fetch quest with Skye. I hate these things. I'm never prepared for what I'm going to encounter, and when I'm under pressure, I can't think straight. I mess everything up. We're on our way now to the bakery where Mr. Porter is. I try my best to compose myself as a member of the Royal Guard; my midnight blue plated armor rattles with my steps. Whenever I walk through the town I never like the way Adventure Bay looks anymore. No matter how many times I stroll through the streets, it never looks any different. People and animals alike look malnourished, the humans wearing loose-fitting rags for clothes atop their skinny flesh. Nobody takes care of the streets, littered with trash and rotten food. The houses, decrepit and run down, only serve their purpose to shelter, hardly to provide. It's really sad, and I despise what it's become.

We sure get a lot of attention as we go for a stroll around town. Every eye glances to our position and scowls at us. What are they thinking of me? My father wanted me to join so I could become a man of the household, and yet... I feel like the cause I'm fighting for makes me feel like even less of a man. Who could blame us for our behavior? I'm forced to follow rules and laws I don't abide by, and Skye... well, she doesn't care too much what happens to the people she ruins. If we don't follow what the King orders then I don't even want to think of what will become of us. The mere thought of our demise sends shivers down my spine, jingling my armor. Gulping and hastening my step, I yearn to reach Mr. Porter's bakery posthaste. I don't wait for Skye to catch up with me; I can no longer withstand the brutal accusatory glares I receive.

The two of us halt in front of the bakery. Despite the dreary atmosphere around town, the building looked like the holy light that shines down from the heavens. The savior. Although washed out and pale, and some spots with cracked cream colored paint, the bakery stood tall with a red and white striped overhang over the stone entrance. Near either side of the building, wooden food stands held fresh fruit with two workers standing by to allow customers to either buy or sample. Apples, bananas, oranges, watermelons, any fruit you could imagine were piled in stacks and organized on the stands. You know, I really don't want to do this. I hate tagging along with her, and especially since King Chase forces me along, knowing full well it's like exposure therapy for me. Except I never asked for it in the first place. Skye lightly shoves me with her paw, 'cause apparently, she had been trying to usher me inside while I stood still in a daze. It really shows how much I want to do my job. "You coming in, or are you just going to stall by staying high up there in La-La land?"

I give my whole body a quick shake. "S-sowwy, Skye. I'm just newvous as usual."

She sighs, plants her paw to her face. "You really are no help, Zuma. When will you finally get over that the King will eventually lose his patience with you and resign you from the Royal Guard unless you shape up?"

I can't look her in the eyes. Her head is swiveled toward me, but her body still faces the dreaded building. I can't fathom going inside. "I nevew wanted this, you know that."

She scoffs. "So you wanna go back home to your father? That what you want?"

I groan under my breath, scraping the concrete with my clenched front paws. "No. I wefuse to do such a thing." I gulp. "C'mon. Let's go in."

I follow the cockapoo through the wooden door, and as we step inside, the bells dangling on the handle chimed. The interior had an aroma that the baked bread provided. The prominent smell and warmth inside the small comfy area already made me feel like I didn't live within a town torn to shreds. Both sides had round wooden tables for customers to sit and enjoy a meal, and in the center all the way in the back-this wasn't a huge place, mind you-stood the ordering counter, where you had all your bread needs taken care of. Stationed behind the counter, a bald man wearing a green apron and a blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up took orders alongside a couple more workers beside him handling loaves.

Skye doesn't waste any time getting personal, and walks straight up to the counter, squinting at Mr. Porter as if he had some food bits in his dark brown mustache. The man shoots her the same expression back, only his head lurches back a bit in shock. "What can I do for you today, Ma'am-" He halts mid sentence when his attention adjusts from the cockapoo to my armor. My authority. Skye had only magenta robes on her fur pelt, blending in with the common folk with a hood up to conceal her true identity. "-Sir. How may I assist you today?"

On first glance, some would say he just completely ignored Skye, but everybody knows the rules: address royalty first. I loathe the attention I receive from being authority. It makes speaking to anyone tough because I must change the manner in which I talk to sound more intimidating. However... despite my practice, I can never seem to get it right in the moment. "On behalf of the King's ordews, I must inform you that... that, y-you... will... um. Be questioned? By, by... the King! Yes, the King!"

Mr. Porter furrows his brows at my sudden screw up. "Okay... I haven't done anything wrong, sir, so I'd like to ask you to leave my bakery."

They always refuse when I fail, which is all the time. If my confidence wavers at all, nobody agrees upon the decree that I recite. I have to regain control over the situation. I usually don't resort to this but... I've got to try to be menacing. I grip the sword handle with my teeth, the blade being the confines of the scabbard on my torso, and I hesitate a moment before drawing it in front of the man. He laughs, pointing at my blade. "You really think you can threaten me with that pathetic sword? All rusted and worn like that? Give me a break, I can slice through that weapon with a loaf of my bread!"

I growl and lower into a fighting stance, but it's no use. Mr. Porter crosses his arms with a knowing grin on his face. "I'm not budging with the usage of such cowardice tactics."

Unable to convince him anymore than I possibly ever could, Skye steps in to save the day, and I watch her stomp up to Mr. Porter with a stern expression. "We have your bakery surrounded with more members of the Royal Guard, Mr. Porter, so I suggest you think carefully regarding your next response, because it may be your last."

Now that really spikes some fear within the man, and his teeth clench with worry as his fate becomes sealed. In reality, the cockapoo had bluffed her way out of a jam, which she often has to resort to, considering she's assigned to me all the time. Sighing at knowing his defeat, Mr. Porter hunches over. "Alright, alright. I'll see the King for questioning, even though I still don't know what it's about."

"Good," the cockapoo flashes a devious smile at him with a wink, "follow us please~ and we'll escort you to His Majesty, King Chase."

 _How professional_ , _Skye_ , I think to myself, rolling my eyes as the man exits behind the counter. I sheathe my dilapidated sword and tail Mr. Porter who follows Skye out of his bakery. With the suspect in question captured, we return to the Throne room to pay His Majesty a visit.

Luckily Mr. Porter didn't falter in his instructions to follow us back to the castle Lookout. We've had a few instances where the questioned have tried to escape our grasp, and needless to say, Skye didn't give them much breathing room. Once we enter the Throne room, the King was a little busy. I wanted to shield my eyes. Chase had been getting it on with a couple whores and a boy toy while we were away. On his throne, moans and other unpleasant sounds reverberated around the room, and before this continued any longer, I had to intervene to save us the "pleasure" of seeing our King enjoying himself. I clear my throat. "Ahem!" I say, "S-Siwe, we have bwought the suspected as you wequested. Shall I b-bwing him forward?" Of course, I still can't talk correctly in front of the King, either, since I still have to act professionally. I must do this around everyone, actually, now that I think about it. If I don't catch a break, I may find myself permanently inhibited by this anxiety. It's all because of why I have to do it in the first place.

The King only offers us a scowl and a disgusted look as the prostitutes recognized that they had unknown company. They ceased all sexual actions and proceeded to garnish their naked fur with clothes to leave His presence. Despite their being no need to wear garments for animals, sexual solicitors such as themselves usually preferred to do so to _tease_ their patrons. King Chase growls as they walk away, the three female cats and one male wolf making suggestive faces at us before exiting. The King sits up in his throne with a bored expression, elbow of one paw resting underneath his muzzle once again. "Skye, _Zuma,_ bring forth the suspect in question."

"Yes, Your Highness," we both say in tandem.

Bringing up Mr. Porter, we set him down on his knees before the King, in between the two of us. Without hesitation, King Chase bellows, "So, Mr. Porter! I hear you've been low on your bread inventory for several months now. Why is that?"

The man lifts his head up to speak. "Your Majesty, I-"

"You decided to give the bread away? To my sworn enemy but also business partner King Humdinger?"

I still don't know how the King is able to keep stable business relations with that man. He's toxic, and yet... he's all we have in short proximity of us for miles...

The man grits his teeth in response, and I don't know if that means he's guilty or that he's fearing for his life. "N-no, but Sir! Please! Let me-!"

"Guards! I want this man in the dungeon! Keep him in there a few hours, that'll teach him a lesson." On cue, King Chase's more reliable Royal Guard members burst through the throne room doors, two of them, donned in the same midnight blue armor as myself. Except, these dogs were German shepherds like the King himself, but even bigger than he was, and yet these guards did not betray him. Why?

Mr. Porter lifts himself off his knees in protest and fear, but the guards swoop in and snatch his arms before he is able to do anything but wail in despair. I tune it out. I don't want to listen to that poor man anymore. His fate has been sealed. Sure, that's only theory, as I find it illogical to think that King Chase would show mercy on anyone. Especially an imprisonment for such a short duration. My head lurches back as my widened eyes follow the man getting dragged out of the room. His bread tastes so good; I sneaked it every morning for breakfast, and now... he'll be locked away for who knows how long.

As the doors slam shut, sending shivers down my spine, the King dismisses me from the room, as he only wanted a discussion with Skye at the moment. "Suwe," I had said, in a lax and carefree manner, but I know what he will be conversing with her. It's about me. My behavior. This isn't something that happens only so often; it occurs every time I have to apprehend a supposed "criminal". So, I wait outside the double doors, leaving my floppy ear against the wood to eavesdrop as usual.

"I want a report on his behavior," King Chase says aloud. His voice booms inside that room, and I really don't know if he's doing it on purpose or if it's the ergonomic design.

"Yes, Your Majesty," she replies, her voice stern and flat. "Again, he seemed nervous on the way there, and when it came to executing and reciting what he had practiced, he did not deliver it to my satisfactory. I had to cover him when he lost control of the situation, needlessly drawing his pathetic blade and flaunting it at Mr. Porter. I say, quite the keeper you have here, Your Highness. I've covered for him so many times now, but I never really asked what exactly you see in him."

I imagine the King purses his lips and slowly nods his head, but I can't see anything through closed doors. "Nothing. Nothing at all. And yes, I'm well aware he isn't fit for the job. However, his Father pays me generous sums of money each passing month to keep him here. And so, I will do what's necessary to transform that weak minded mutt into a strong-willed guard."

This isn't news to me. My father would do such a thing. After all... he forced me to join in the first place, and besides, he isn't the nicest man on the face of Adventure Bay, either.

"As you wish, Your Majesty. I respect your so called 'sentiment' for the young lab, but please, will you try assigning him with somebody else? I have grown tired of his drivel."

"No. You are the only one able to somewhat tolerate his actions, as the other guards would've chopped his head off by now."

"I Understand, Sire."

"You are dismissed."

My heart races as I realize it's time for me to mind my own business in the hallway a ways from the door, so I tiptoe away and sit against the wall about ten to fifteen feet out. Skye trots out a brief moment after, and she catches me in her peripheral vision, but huffs and pays me no mind. As her tiny cockapoo body disappears down the corridor, I know it's my cue to come back in, regardless of whether I've been beckoned or not, because I've experienced this many times before.

The door creaks when I head inside, and the King squints his eyes at me, as if unhappy to see I allowed myself entry without permission. I take one step and immediately I hear him retort, "You _dare_ , enter without my permission?"

It really doesn't matter if I do or not... the result will always be the same. "My humblest apologies, Your Majesty, I figured, since you always want me in here after, that I could just come in of my own accord after Skye has left."

"Definitely not. Come here. I must speak with you." He ushers me in further using his paw.

I oblige, now sitting before him. "Y-Yes, Sire?" Giving him a quizzical expression, I tilt my head slightly.

He lets out a hard sigh. "Your behavior is still concerning, and even more so today. You know this can't go on forever."

Knowing the end game of this conversation has me trembling. "I-I... understand, Your Majesty..."

He growls, lifting his hindquarters off his throne a tad. "Again, with the timidness! Oh, how I _despise_ it... " The King's posture stiffens as he leans forward, baring his teeth.

I flinch and lean my body back as much as possible without getting up from my sitting position. I know what's coming. And it does. I know my reaction didn't help, either. His clawed paw swipes across my muzzle, catapulting me to the side and onto my torso. Now lying on the floor, I lie motionless, knowing if I retaliate he'll do much worse. There's a burning sensation on my snout. It stings, but I know I can't show any pain or move. He'll punish me. I must sit here and accept it. My eyes wince shut, a groan through clenched teeth escaping my lips, and as soon as I noticed it, he was on top of me. He stomped his front paws into my exposed side with a loud grunt. I watched his crown tip as I yelped in pain, but he pounced on that outburst too; another paw cracks against my muzzle.

My eyes are closed now, and I try to keep my mind occupied, not focused on the several agonizing sensations going on in my body right now. Oh wait.. I'm still thinking about it! Stop! Stop! Okay... think of... um, I dunno! Something! A beach! Yeah! A relaxing day on the soft sand. The waves crash against the shore, recede and wash away the grit once more, over and over. So calming. My muscles lose their tension. I lie lax on the cold stone, since the King knocked me off the luxurious red carpet strip in the center. Paw pad sounds came one after another, pounding in my ears, but I think it's over. Is it safe to open my eyes? To feel the pain? To _breathe_?

"He's doing me a nice favor. To keep you. Don't ruin it. You're going to get a new sword tomorrow. See the royal blacksmith. Dismissed." I hear the paw pad noises fade away and then the door creaking open.

It's safe. I open my eyes and breathe. "Heh... still like my Father..."


	2. Chapter 2

Seduction of a King

Chapter 2

 **Zuma's POV**

I couldn't receive any medical attention yesterday evening. I'm not allowed exit of the Lookout unless granted permission to do so by the King. And so, I retreated to my room for the night, hobbling down there, since every time I wanted to walk my side would shoot a painful bullet through me. It ached. It made moving awkward. But now, I'm up and going at it again... this time, to see the royal blacksmith. He's on a couple floors above our rooms. That means I must ascend the spiral staircase, my injuries included. Right now, I stand before the open entry way to the center cylinder facing my greatest obstacle at the current moment. Oh, man, what if I don't make it? What if I fall? If I do, will anyone notice or find me? I just don't know! But I need to do this! Somehow.

The stairs seem like a daunting task, but I need to reach the blacksmith. Taking it one paw at a time, my body moves in slow motion to ease the pain that emanates from my body with any sudden movement. I cringe with every stair climbed, but I keep moving, and those two floors now feel like five thousand at the pace I'm going. Eventually, though, I reach my destination, but it definitely did a number on my energy.

The cool thing about the Lookout is that every floor is in a circular pattern, so even the blacksmith's shop is shaped in such a manner. When I enter the blacksmith's shop, I'm greeted by Rocky, in a tarnished black apron and wearing green protective goggles. He had on black leather booties to protect his paws, too. The look he gives me when I come in is not of one seeing an old acquaintance yet again, though. He had been working on a sword, and he immediately drops his task and hobbles over to me, shifting off the stool he uses for balance when doing his job. The pup only has three legs after the incident, after all. It's his back right hind leg, a growth deformity, leaving the mix unable to do most activities. As I stare at the bandage he has wrapped around the missing limb, he furrows his brows at me and backs away slightly. "You alright, Zuma?"

To this day, I don't know how he was born with such a strange condition. "Yeah, I just need some west is all. Don't wowwy about it, dude." I flash him a smile, though forced and strained. My body still aches me immensely.

The mix returns to his anvil, and beginning to lift the sword up again to continue his work, he asks, "What brings you over here this morning?"

I fidget with my scabbard to clip it off my armor. Then, once it finally detaches, the sword drops to the ground, and I pick it up with my teeth before bringing it to him. "Hewe you go," I say through clenched teeth.

Rocky, without moving from his standing position, handles my sword with care as he places it below the other sword he had been working on. He hums, peering at the weapon as if it were a specimen under a microscope. The mix glides his paw over the blade, splattered with dark rust stains; its sheen is dull and barely living. "This sword... is unsalvageable. R.I.P. Dead. Know what I mean?"

Does he think I'm some sort of idiot? Of course I do. "Yeah, dude, I undewstand."

"Clearly you don't, because it looks like you've been using it a lot and for a while, so... basically, I'm saying you need a new sword. Why are you even still _using_ this blade?"

I purse my lips, staring at the worn down blade. "I had no choice. It was the only one left in twaining. I wasn't weally enthusiastic about the whole thing, so I had evewyone pick befowe me, since I would be the least useful and wanted the best of the best to have the bettew weapons."

Rocky glazes his eyes over me, humming, thinking. "So, then, how long have you been in the Royal Guard, Zuma?"

"Five months. I had been with my fathew for five months pwiow befowe being sent off to twaining to become one of the Woyal Guawds."

The mix now looks off into the distance, placing his front paw under his muzzle while leaning over the anvil. "I see. In any case, we gotta get you a new blade, Zuma!" A huge grin blows up on his face as he twists his attention back to me. "So, what would you like in a weapon? Any specifications?"

He sure seems enthusiastic. Too bad I'm not as into it as he is. "I mean, I nevew weally wanted the blade anyway..." Looking away now, I laugh to myself. As I watch for his reaction, he tilts his head, and I regain my composure and abruptly cough. "A lightweight one, please. Small daggew. That old one is tough to hold with my teeth."

He chuckled before picking up my rusty sword. "Oh~? You're into the teeth fighting stance?Cool~! Anyway, to prove my point..." He shifts his body away from the anvil, and then takes my sword and lifts it up high above his head, nearly losing his balance. "I'll demonstrate..." he says with strain in his throat, "just how weak this sword is!" With brute force, he swings it down against the ground, and there's a loud _clang!._ Metallic sparks fly as the sword shatters into pieces. He drops the severed handle and continues, "As you can see, had you actually used that sword, it wouldn't have lasted long at all. So," he stares me straight in the eyes, a sudden gleam in them, a sort of passion, "do you want a new sword now, Zuma?"

Speechless, I nod my head several times.

"Come back in a bit to give it a try." The mix smiles at me, swiveling his body back around to resume working on his other sword for a different client. I take this opportunity to leave. "Thanks, Wocky," I say before exiting. Now... with that out of the way, I should probably rest up for a bit.

I'm going to need to be at full strength to do what I'm going to do today.

 **Skye's POV**

The sand feels coarse and grainy on my paws. King Chase sent me on another fetch quest. This time, after my observations, I believe Cap'n Turbot, our main source for fish in Adventure Bay, is somehow messing with his weekly quota. I don't know how, but I'm about to find out. Busting these guys is fun, because they've clearly been disregarding the King's wishes, and for that, they must be punished.

I see the Cap'n working on his boat, the Flounder, buffing out the outer surface for a little spruce up. It's important to keep it clean. He's our best fisherman around, but lately, he hasn't been, and that's why I'm here. Walking up to him at the docks, his boat is near the wooden pier, and I nearly scare him when I say, rather blunt, "Cap'n Turbot."

He had been on a step stool to reach the dirt and grime up high, and as he heard my voice, the man nearly fell backward, but held his composure just enough to stay on two feet. He turns around, squinting at me and then gasping, and rubs his blue square-framed glasses for clarity. "My, well if it isn't the slick, slippery Skye? What can I do for you today? Can I interest you in some squid jerky?" He points to a bucket filled to the brim with rubbery purple tentacles.

I am unable to hold my face back with disgust. "Eh, uh, no, thank you. I have urgent business to discuss with you."

Cap'n Turbot stops his task with the rag and places it down, his attention now fully grasped by me. He purses his lips and tucks his thumbs into his yellow overall straps. "Alright, what sort of boisterous business do you have for me?"

I smile at him as I recite, "The King summons you to his Throne room for questioning, you have been suspected of a crime. I implore you to see His Majesty right away, as this is an urgent matter to discuss. Failure to comply will result in extra punishment if proven guilty."

The man, like the sea in the winter, freezes. His jaw is left slightly agape as my words whir around in his brain. "Understood, ma'am. I'll go right this instant." Being careful as to not lose his footing, the Cap'n jumps off the stool and tails me, while I lead us off the pier and onto the beach. The walk back feels longer and more awkward with another person following me, and not to mention, I wonder where Zuma is? The King had told me before I left that he had business to attend to, but what kind of business? And that was quite a while ago, since the clear blue sky shows the sun to be in the position for early afternoon. I exited the Throne room to do my observations this morning. It's at least been a few hours. Well, no use worrying about that now, I have to make sure this criminal doesn't run. I check behind me, and Cap'n Turbot, with his head bowed and kicking the sand rather harshly with his feet as he walked, is still there. I scoff to myself; at least I know he ain't going anywhere but the Throne room.

Cap'n Turbot was a good criminal for me all the way there. Now in front of the large double doors, I approach to knock, allowing the King the pleasure of knowing my presence. Apparently, I didn't need to, because immediately as I head up to the door, I overhear shouting. Fearing the King's life is in danger, I barge in, my heart beating with shivers running down my spine to boot. I'm sure Cap'n Turbot is obedient enough to follow me inside and not to runaway, but even if he does, that's not my top priority right now. The King's safety comes first.

Zuma. The King. Bickering. That's all I process in this scene. Actually, it's mostly the lab doing the yelling: he seems furious. His posture is rigid, him standing right in front of the King's throne, too close, in my opinion, and his tail is raised and firm.

"You'we telling me... all this time... _that's_ what you've been doing to the people you suspect have disobeyed you?!" What is Zuma talking about? My breath hitches as I listen further.

"I may do whatever I wish to _criminals_ , who have _threatened_ the lives of many in Adventure Bay."

The lab scoffs and begins to pace in short distances in front of the throne. "Oh, weally? Was with-holding bwead fow the nobles and youw soldiews, that _should be_ fow the peasants that awe stawving out thewe, weally such a cwime, _Chase_?"

King Chase grunts and darts his head away. Then he growls before saying, "I have to protect our kingdom. The more military power we have the safer we are. And soldiers need food."

I admit, even I was getting furious at the King's words at this point. Zuma halts his pacing and glares at the ground, his teeth baring. "We don't need this much militawy powew. I assume we'we on good tewms with Foggybottom, which is awe only potential enemy, and not to mention, we have nobody else to wowwy about fow dozens of nautical miles. The peasants won't stand fow this much longer, the mowe you push the mowe they may pull."

He laughs long and hard. "You seriously think they're going to pull? What are they going to pull? They're weak, starving, have hardly no other resources and other commodities. You're telling me they can pull something off against my well-fed, professionally trained, soldiers?! Don't make me laugh."

The lab pounds his paw against the ground. His breathing is heavy. With his eyes glued to the floor, the pup is silent. I glance beside me for a moment, and I see Cap'n Turbot completely enamored at the scene before him. Looks like he did follow me inside. Good to hear.

"You know..." The king steps down from his throne, standing tall before the downtrodden pup with a wild grin. "I should have you executed for what you did. But... I can't have another enemy on my hands, nor do I want to skip out on an opportunity to make some extra gold. So... I think I'll just have to settle with this." He trots over to the left side of his throne, and grabs a scepter with his teeth, the golden rod is adorned with a red ruby on the top.

Zuma eyes him with intensity as he does this, bringing it back over and standing in front of the lab once more now on his hind paws. He takes it out of his mouth and holds it in one paw. "You know what this is for?" The King asks.

There's a dull glaze in his eyes as he looks up toward the shepherd. "Yes..."

"It's what's going to beat you till you can't move anymore. Understand? Don't resist till I'm done. Or else..." he twists the top a bit and yanks back, revealing a makeshift dagger hidden within the scepter attached to the ruby knob.

I'd imagine the sheer amount of fear going through the lab's body right now. As if to petrify the lab, the King waves it in front of the lab's face in a daunting manner, and then places it back. "Now do you know the difference between you and I?" Chase towers above Zuma on his hind legs, smirking because he knows the lab isn't able to efficiently do that to the King's level. Gripping above the ruby knob, Chase raises the scepter over his head, and I watch as the lab closes his eyes tight, scrunching up his face in preparation for the pain he's about to experience. The King swings it downward and slams the rod on the lab's head; the sound of metal hitting bone echoes. And yet, Zuma still stands, no yelps, no more flinching, eyes still closed. Next, Chase, with a flat expression, takes the rod and sweeps it underneath the lab's two front paws, effectively lowering his top half to the ground. He then walks behind Zuma and... oh no, I know what he's going to do next.

That grin is back again on the King's face, except it has a different connotation. It's one of... lust? No... desire? I don't know. He raises the scepter again and whacks it against the lab's ass. Now this, this, results in a loud yip from Zuma, and it eggs Chase on with yet another smack to the bottom. More complaints from Zuma. But this time, the King waits a moment, allowing that stinging sensation to sink into the lab's flesh. He lowers down and aims the rod level to Zuma's asshole. Am I really going to let this continue? It inches closer to his pink pucker, and soon the cold metal presses up against it, and the lab shivers in response.

 _Don't let this continue..._

He shoves it in without warning, resulting in a painful shriek from the lab. It pierces my ears, and I look at Cap'n Turbot, he's covering his ears and shutting his eyes. I can't let this continue. As much as Zuma annoys me, he doesn't deserve this... nor does Cap'n Turbot. Springing into action, my paws scratch against stone as I race toward the King. The shepherd yanks his head around and notices me, takes out the scepter really quick, and then draws his dagger. Standing on two hind legs, he already has an advantage over me, but I can't let this go on any longer. My paws propel me forward, and I watch as the King takes a defensive stance, so I need to make this count. He's probably thinking I'm going to aim for his legs, so... I'll jump when he least expects it!

As I draw near, time feeling slowed down, just as I thought, he swoops in for my legs. I jump, but he ducks as I do this, and I overshoot. He takes this opportunity to push back up, shoving me out of the way and onto my back. My breath is taken out from underneath me. I watch as he takes this blade next to Zuma, his paw now on the lab's backside to hold him still. He leans downward, almost breathing on Zuma's fur, and drags the dagger across the lab's skin. I spring back up onto my feet as fast as I can, my breathing now somewhat returned, and dash at the King. By the time I reach him, he had already sliced a line through almost half of the lab's back, Zuma's face retorting with groans escaping his muzzle. I use all my weight to tackle the King down, knocking his weapons out of his perilous paws, and I hear one last yelp from the lab when the King lands onto the stone floor. Zuma tries to move with his injuries, but all he can manage is to tremble and fall back to his original lying position.

Getting off the King, I move over to protect Zuma as Chase picks himself up. Now on all fours again, his dagger and scepter out of reach, the King attempts to saunter over to the lab again, but I growl. He pauses for a moment. "Hmph. Guards!" he yells. A german shepherd, a bear, and two wolves rush in on two legs. "Take Cap'n Turbot to the dungeon, he's already guilty if he's been brought here, and don't forget this young lady, too. She's got a hot date with the dungeon, as well." Chase smirks. I eye Zuma for a second: he hasn't moved, eyes shut tight, his body limp. One of the wolves and the bear grab me, and the other wolf guard snags Cap'n Turbot. I don't put up any fight. The King glances over to Zuma. "Take this pathetic mutt to the infirmary to get patched up, I need him in better shape if I want to make his Father happy."

"Yes Sire." The last guard, the german shepherd, grabs the lab and hauls him over his shoulder. He then takes him out of the room, and then the two guards lug Cap'n Turbot and I away. My heart picks up the pace as the sudden realization dawns on me: I don't know what's going to happen to me. I overheard Zuma that something bad happened to Mr. Porter, but I have no idea what. The mere thought sends shivers down my spine, and I outstretch my front paws, my nails scratching against the stone. It makes a jittery screeching sound, unpleasant to any ear. I don't want this. I don't deserve this. I did a good thing. I am being _punished_ for a good deed! How dare he!

As my body slides through the wooden double doors after Cap'n Turbot, I can't help but have one thing on my mind:

 _What exactly did Zuma see down there?_


	3. Chapter 3

Seduction of a King

Chapter 3

 **Zuma's POV**

 _I can't sit idle, despite my injury, and not know. What exactly goes on down there? What are they doing to Mr. Porter? As I descend down the spiral staircase once more, a new weapon soon to come, my mind settles on the idea that I must see for myself what transpires down in the dungeon. What does my King actually do to the criminal suspects? I head all the way down to the basement level, where the torch light walls become less and less frequent till it's dark and dim, and I have no idea where my paws are. Of course, this takes forever, but when I finally reach the bottom, my mind screams at me to jump with joy. But I can't. It would hurt._

 _The dungeon door is made of thick metal. Not just anyone can get inside, except us Royal Guards. Only we know about the hidden spot where an extra key is hidden. Not too far away from the door is a slightly discolored stone in the wall. This can be pressed in. And so, I push on it with my paw, and it scoots inward; underneath it is a little space holding a key. Grasping it within my paws, I then hold it with my teeth as I walk back toward the door. The key is put in, turned, and I pry open the door, which takes a lot more effort than I imagined, since I've only seen it done, never on my own. The dungeon, too, has a circular pattern like the rest of the floors, however, it expands through connecting tunnels into more similar patterns. Each sector holds different inmates and criminals. Major offenders, Minor offenders, and Miscellaneous. The one I walk into is always the Miscellaneous section, and in order to find Mr. Porter, he would probably be in the Major offender section. Thing is, when I first started here, I was given a tour among the other Royal Servants of the castle Lookout, the dungeon included. We aren't really supposed to be in here without permission._

 _I walk past the rows of cages with terrible conditions, barely paying them any mind; a bucket, a flat board elevated with chains, all in a six feet long, eight foot wide area. There were many peasants inside each cage, one per prisoner of course, but honestly, I didn't want to look too much. I don't want their thoughts on my mind. The Miscellaneous section flies by, and I enter the Major section labeled with a large "M" next to one of the tunnels. Conveniently, there's a chart as I enter this new area on the wall next to the entrance, which is interchangeable for new prisoners, but this'll help me locate Mr. Porter faster. Running down the names with my eyes, I latch onto Mr. Porter's... and he's in sector three. Looks like I got more walking to do. I take one step and hear other paws than my own. I make a break out of the area and behind the door, and I peek my head out to see a Doberman guard, heavily donned in black armor, strolling past the rounded corner. I would've been spotted for sure. This doesn't make sense to me. Why would guards only patrol the Major area? Why not all the areas? Usually it makes more sense to have several guards for each area, and yet, so far, this is the first guard I've encountered. Needless to say, I need to sneak around for now if I don't want to get caught._

 _The guard finishes his predetermined route and turns around, leaving me with an opportunity to move. And I do, quickly darting across the other bend, my eyes alert for anymore potential danger ahead. There are more. Thinking on my paws, my body jerks to the right, it now positioned low to the ground and behind a cage. I'm probably pretty visible, but maybe, if the guard doesn't notice me early... I can scare him and run, avoiding conflict. No... that won't work. Why, why did I do this? This was a terrible idea! If he sees me... I-I-I'm going to have to fight. No... I don't want to hurt anyone. B-but, if it's to save my own life?_

 _Here he comes. I gulp; the nails on my paws dig into the hard stone floor. Watching his snout move left and right through the dimly lit darkness, I hear his paws ease their way past my location. If only my heart could match the slow pace of his patrol. It's about to explode. As soon I think the coast is clear, his body turns toward my direction, and my eyes widen._

 _"Hey... who are you?!"_

 _Shivers shimmy down my spine. My mind is wiped clean. I feel frozen in place, but... I lunge at him somehow and scream. Teeth bared, paws out in front of me, I latch onto the Doberman's neck with my fangs. They sink into his flesh. I tighten my jaw and hold on tight, the firm yet furry taste of skin hanging in my mouth like a noose holding a dead body. Lifeless. The severe shaking rattling my bones proved enough for me when I finally lost my grip and flew in the air toward the ground a few feet away. When I slam against the floor, I lick my lips, the metallic taste the blood left behind was oddly amusing. But it also made me want to vomit, squelching my stomach into knots. The need to run returns to my mind, and I pick myself up quickly, although a little woozy._

 _The guard is still in a daze, and I use this to my advantage, rushing past him and toward the next sector, disregarding the other Dobermans now aware of my presence. The cages and other scenery blur as I pick up speed. Now in sector two, more guards are present, heading over to try and catch me, but my legs are flowing like a river, an unstoppable current despite how much they burn. I'm panting heavy, but I have to keep going, I can't let them nab me! Another sector flies by. Before I forget, I make a mental note that Mr. Porter should be in here. It'd be suicide if I slow down, though, so I'll just have to make a few trips around the circle. There are even more guards in here and not too many prisoners, but the thing is, there were Dobermans inside each of the cages filled with a prisoner. Geez, how many Dobermans do you have, dude?_

 _As I continue to run around, dodging new guards coming every which way, my attention keeps being grabbed by the action happening inside the cages. I hear screams, painful sound effects, and guards yelling at the prisoners. It's truly catching my eye. Perhaps this'll help me find Mr. Porter? Or will it aid in my eventual capture? Is it even eventual? Will I get caught? Thinking like that makes it harder to focus, but I shake my head to knock those thoughts loose. As I do so, I'm on my third lap around I think, and since my focus shifted, I notice his green apron in the corner of my eye. He's on the outer edge. Now... if only I wasn't being chased, otherwise, I'd be able to get a better look. An idea pops into my head, and I abruptly skid to a halt, turning around after doing so. I see him there, with guards surrounding him, Mr. Porter chained to a wall. Except, his green apron is on the floor, and the man is nearly naked. I squint my eyes. What are they doing to him?_

 _I'm snapped back into reality by a guard's yelling getting closer. I gasp and whip my body around to see the guard about to nab me, so I propel myself backward to dodge him, and then I face the front again to continue my escape. Er, another lap around, basically, because I need to know more. As I head back again, I notice these dark, red lines over his chest, abdomen, arms, etc. Everywhere. Are they... whipping him? I stop dead in my tracks. They aren't just whipping him in there, I see other torture devices as well hanging on the walls or sitting on a nearby table. I'm speechless, my mouth is left agape._

 _A blunt blow to my side leaves me breathless. I've been caught._

I jolt awake, my eyelids bursting open.My nose is appalled at the scent in the air: vinegar and mint leaves. Often, those are what's used to heal wounds. On that note... there's a strange sensation in my butt. You know what, I don't want to know what they did to fix stuff down there. Other than that, I'm pretty sore all over, my paws especially. Must've been all that running around, and that blow King Chase did to me with his rod. Oh god, that sounds sexual, and that's the last route I want to go down after what happened. Sighing to myself, I glance around me. I don't recognize my surroundings, but I think I know where I am due to what happened previously. It was mid-afternoon around when I confronted the King, so, maybe I've been unconscious for an hour or so? Maybe? Ugh, I don't know, and you know what? What he does to his prisoners, well, at least... his Major offenders I guess, is absolutely unforgivable.

I groan. Taking note of my aching pain, I would assume I'm in the Infirmary. Gloomy as the rest of the castle; stone walls that are torch lit; some wooden tables and cabinets in one corner; and of course, beds laid out in rows on either side of the long stretching room. Now, I'm the only one in the Infirmary, because, nobody really uses this other than the Royal Servants and other staff, and maybe, just _maybe_ , if the King finally gets a kind bone in that four legged canine body of his, he might let some peasants in here for recovery if space doesn't permit elsewhere. I doubt that would actually happen, though. He went awry and hasn't gone back to his old self in quite some time, and in fact, I think he may be too far gone to be saved at this point. It's too bad our old king was dethroned by him, and the weird thing is... Chase had good intentions at first. But they don't last if not implemented correctly.

As I lie here, on this bed, uncomfortable and aching all over, I hear a rap on the wooden door to my left. The door slides open, for efficient accessibility, and it reveals a grey mix breed, out of uniform. Although, he kept the rubber booties on, maybe because they're cute or something, I don't know. Well, at least _I_ think they're cute. Dunno about his opinion. Anyway~, I'm rambling. His face looks somber, though, the eyelids drooping with fatigue like a wild sunflower without rain. There are light purple shadings under his eyes, and as he walks in to see me, he hardly cracks a smile, but I can tell he's trying, because his face strains with effort. "Hey, Zuma." The mix hobbles in further, taking longer than usual, using more calculated steps. He glances at a chair near a wooden table by the entrance, but he sighs and just saunters over to my bedside instead.

"Well, well, you seem pwetty chippew today, dude."

He chuckles lightly, and then returns to his daunting demeanor. "You seem more chipper than me, that's for sure, even with what happened to you..."

I turn my face toward him. "How did you heaw about that?"

His eyes widen slightly for a moment. "Oh, I heard some commotion down the staircase outside my workshop, and that's where I saw some guards taking down to the Infirmary. I then asked the King about it. I'm really sorry he did that to you..."

I give him a soft smile. "Hey, come on, I'll be okay. I'm... used to it, dude." He doesn't look at me after I say that. Why? What's wrong with him? Why do people always do that when I say that?! I don't understand...

He sighs. "Zuma, I'm working on your sword, but... in your condition, I don't know if you'll be able to wield it. From what I heard, you were beaten pretty bad. By... our King." Rocky groans, still unable to face me. He shakes his head. "It's just so infuriating. How you can just accept that kind of treatment. Judging from your reaction... this happens more often than I'd like to hear."

Quit feeling sorry for me. I clench my paw against the white thin sheets, gritting my teeth. "What choice do I have? I go home, and my fathew handles me in the exact same way, if not wowse! If I stay here, I'll be tweated the same, because by ordews and coewcion fwom my fathew, the King is helping with changing me into who my fathew wants me to be."

The mix breed looks down at the floor now, because the wall apparently became too much of a bore for a pup who can't make eye contact with another. "I... I'm sorry. I want to say I know how you feel, but I don't. Not quite."

I groan internally. I don't want your apology. Just... treat, me, normally. I hate your pity, dude. "Don't apologize, just twy me."

He finally stares back at me with those hazel eyes, but instead of answering, he tilts his head slightly, furrowing his brows. "Try you? You mean... tell you how I sort of relate to you?"

I slowly nod several times with a deadpan expression.

"I don't know. I mean, I've never told anyone about this. And we sort of don't know each other. But... I dunno. Something about you just screams trust, even though... you're not at your best right now."

This time, I look away. A tinge of guilt pierces my heart, but it fades after a few moments. When I turn back toward him, I give him a faint smile, as a sort of apology. "Up to you, I guess. I'm sowwy, you know, fow how I acted just now."

"It's alright," he puts his paw on mine, but quickly takes it away, as he realizes he's about to fall over. "Woah~ I almost _died_ there! Hahah!" He laughs a bit, clearing some of the melancholic tension from the air, but the smell still lingers. "I guess I'll let you in on what actually happened to my leg."

I squeeze my brows together, my mouth open just a tad. "What? Isn't it a gwowth defowmity?"

"Nope. That's what everyone tells you, right? 'Cause, there's a mystery surrounding my leg, I'm sure." He laughs a bit then continues, "but really, it's actually an _injury_." To go from laughing to a serious expression is quite the talent, I muse.

More importantly... it's an injury!? "No way!"

He shushes me. "Keep your voice down."

I nod, feeling excitement bubbling in my stomach for some reason, as if I were a tiny little pup again. "Got it," I say in a hushed tone. "So, what happened?" I lean closer to him, my upper half partially off the bed now.

"Well..." He inches near me, too. "I've always wanted to be a soldier for the Royal army. Now, though, it's changed, but that didn't change my original sentiment back then, 'cause, you know, it was different with our old king."

"Mhm."

"And so..." he continues, "I went through training as a young pup. But since I was young, I was often ostracized and bullied. Except... I had remarkable talent, which is likely why I was treated so poorly, but the thing is, one day, one of my bullies took it too far. Took his blade one night while we slept, sneaked into my room, and chopped my hind leg off. I slept on my side, sprawled out, so that's why he was able to isolate it."

My eyes widen as my jaw nearly drops all the way down to the foot of my bed. "That's howwible..."

"Yeah," Rocky looks away for a moment, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes, "that's what jealousy can do to a person. Look what it did to Chase..." No eye contact still, but this time... I'm okay with it.

Even I'm unable to look at him when I think about our King. Chase. Who he's become. "I'm weally sowwy youw dweams wewe cwushed, Wocky. With that injuwy and the stwict wequiwements of the awmy, I don't think you'll get in."

"Not with Chase as our King I won't."

I raise an eyebrow. "What are you _saying_?" I say, my voice really low. "Overthrow the King?"

He nods. And then, an abrupt sliding noise startles us. There's a slam, and we both whip our heads in the direction of it.

Somebody's here.

 **Marshall's POV**

There's nothing to do around here, all I do everyday is entertain the King and sit in my room waiting to do just that. Even then, sometimes he doesn't even need me, and so I sit idle in my quarters, in the dark, doing nothing. I mean, we only have fire to light up our rooms, anyway, and I have so many delicate things in here. Well, most of it is crap, but still, _it is mine_ , after all. Although, since it is crap, maybe the torch fire can somehow tip over and burn it all down? Then~ I can finally get some renovations in here! That sounds like a grand idea! It'd be stupid to actually do that, though, I'd get thrown in the dungeon for sure.

My door gets pried open, and I whip my head around, myself lying on my bed. A group of musicians walk in. The humans lug their instruments inside, while the main leader of the group in the middle holds a black briefcase probably carrying another instrument. They're dressed in fancy vibrant clothing. They look a bit like me in my Jester uniform, except their hats are different, and the striped color patterns vary. The leader drops the briefcase in front of my bed; I flinch as the sudden _thud_ it makes startles me. "You'll be entertaining for ze King. Ve'll be zere to back you up. Your trumpet iz in dere. Get dressed and meet us in ze Throne room in five." He turns around and leaves after that, his band mates, like goons following a bully, tail behind him as if they were robots.

As they close my door, I sigh and jump down from my sorry excuse for a bed. My clothes are folded neatly underneath the shoddy desk. I get dressed as slow as I can, not because I'm doing it on purpose, but because I really don't have the energy. Lying in my room all day has its cons, and not to mention, there's no light or sunlight most of the time, so that means I have no energy from a light source, either. Once finished, I open up the briefcase to reveal my brass trumpet. It has all the parts it needs, including the reed and such. Assembling it took no time at all, and with that out of the way, I carry it out of my room. As I close my door and turn around, I notice Rubble, the Royal renovator, crafting a golden statue of His Majesty near the entrance to the central cylinder staircase. When I pass him, he barely tilts his head my way to say hi. I don't let that bug me too much, since the King doesn't like it when we converse, anyway.

Heading up to the Throne room, I wonder why the King needs me this time? It's been a little while since the last time. I hope he isn't too cranky, since it's now pretty late in the evening, and I know he doesn't fare too well in the evenings. He's an early riser. The steps don't take long to climb up, even with the trumpet in my teeth, and soon, I reach the giant doors leading to the Throne room. The band is there, too, and they stare at me as I wait entry among them. "Ve already knocked on ze door for you," the leader says, glaring at me through his spectacles.

"Oh, alright, um, thanks," I reply, not making eye contact with the French leader.

I hear a faint 'come in' from inside, and that's our cue to head in. Even when I can hardly hear Chase, his voice still holds a commanding demeanor to it. The band and myself walk into the Throne room, and the King, as usual, is sitting on his throne. He looks smug, grumpy, a paw resting under his muzzle: it must be a habit of his or something, because I swear, he does that a lot. "Well?" His voice booms across the room. "Get playing."

"Y-yes sir!" the leader replies, his trumpet already near his mouth. Heh, I find it funny how he's timid toward the King, and yet, he acts all tough toward me. What a hypocrite. Needless to say, though, I prepare my trumpet as well, and I stand in the middle of the band members, front and center. Since, I, am the star of this show. I need to be. Chase has to come back to me. Gotta play well. Raising the piece to my lips, I hear the background beat going, and I draw a breath. Spitting into the reed, I hope the sound spews out snazzy and smooth, because I need to play perfectly for Chase to return to his normal self. I watch his expression, and more notes fly out of my trumpet. His mouth goes from stern to a twitching snicker. No, that's not what I want... don't laugh. Be mad. Be _very_ mad! I must play better!

I avert my focus away from Chase and onto the song I'm playing. It's a simple and upbeat tune, but some notes I realize I can't quite reach yet. So I have to improvise, but when I do, he chuckles a bit! It makes me so angry! Chase begins to laugh out loud, I can hear his hysterics through the music we're playing, and it's quite distracting really, when I'm trying so hard to play well. He doesn't care. He doesn't give a crap about me anymore. I observe the band near me, listen to their sound, and it's... perfect, but mine, especially now since I'm not paying attention, is way way off. The song is about to end soon, and already, I've failed. And you know what? First, he's happy that I entertain him, and then he's mad at me for failing, as if he can't make up his damn mind! It's like, he's not comfy letting me know I pleased him, and so he just decides to ruin it 'cause he can!

Oops. I've stopped playing entirely. So has the band. I've been staring at the floor this whole time. Chase is glaring at me. My... my love, mad at me... again. "Marshall," he bellows.

I lower my trumpet and raise my head, locking onto his brown orbs. "Y-yes, Sire?"

"Since you seem to be _so_ invested in your music, how about, instead, why don't you dance for me?" He gestures with his paw for me to move forward.

I stay stationary. I'm done. This is so pointless, time and time again, it has proved to be a useless waste of my energy. He's gone, and I'll never be able to get him back. "Marshall! Do you hear me?! Front. And. Center!" I don't like to be yelled at.

Tears form under my eyes. I can't help it, it's hard not to cry when being yelled at. "Vat are you doing, you stupid mutt?! Go to him!" The leader of the band ushers me from behind to head up to the throne. Again, I am motionless. Like stone. A statue. Except, this one can shed tears.

"I can't do this anymore," I mutter as I shake my head, and then I turn around and run out of the Throne room. When I exit, I halt near the door to hear his reaction.

"Francois. Dance for me."

I grit my teeth and draw in a sharp breath, sniffle. A single tear trickles down from cheek to floor. That hurts, Chase. Thanks a fucking lot. I take my time getting back to my room, as all my energy has been spent for the day. At least, it's close enough to my bed time where I can just go to sleep. As I arrive on our bedroom floor, I notice Rubble working on a second golden statue near the entrance again. He stares at me for a moment, probably soaking in my tear-stained eyes, red with irritation, and my sulking posture, but I walk past him. He says nothing. Not a word. I can't believe he's such a rule follower that he won't talk to me if something's wrong. He just wants to suck up to Chase, because that's all he's good for.

My bed looks so inviting right now, even if it is a cheap piece of cardboard with a blanket thin as toilet paper. Without changing out of my clothes, I plop atop it's hard surface, feeling the side of my body ache in protest. I don't care. The tears still crawl while I tuck myself in, and tonight, I know for a fact that... I ain't going to sleep too much.

 **Zuma's POV (Earlier in the evening)**

"Get out, Rocky. I must speak with the lab alone."

The mix glares at him. His red robe. The crown resting atop his pretentious head. And then, when finished giving him the longest dare of the fifteenth century, he leaves the Infirmary, and brushes past the King as he does so.

I, of course, help Rocky continue the longest glare by resuming it when the King directs his attention at me. "Zuma," he says. "Your injuries seem pretty horrifying."

I glance down at my bed sheets. They're not _that_ horrifying. I'm achy and sore all over, and I might have some light head trauma, but overall, I'm fine.

"It looks like you're going to have to be out of commission for a while, and so," he waits to see my reaction, and since I expected this already, I have no expression. He huffs and continues, " _and so,_ I will be sending you back home. To your father, for the time being. Understand?"

I stare him down. It's just like him to do this. And yet, I can only keep up this act for so long, since, my father is ten times worse than he is. My body is already trembling, at least it's underneath the blanket, so King Chase may not even notice.

"We leave immediately. I've already packed your personal belongings, which are nothing, because you own nothing here. So, with that said, get up. We're leaving. A horse is waiting for you outside."

I can hardly breathe. After a few attempts, I finally will myself to exhale, my eyes widened. I didn't think it'd be _this_ soon. My heart races as he whips the warm blanket off me, the sudden drop in temperature invading my fur instantly. With a few grunts and groans, I rise and clamber out of bed. Trailing behind the King, he leads me outside, and I see the dying, yellowing grass surrounding the castle Lookout. Crushing the withering blades beneath, a brown stead stands in front of us. It's weird. A four legged dog sitting on a four legged horse. Dunno how that works, but as long as I don't have to walk, it's fine. Oh, the King has a saddle on it that's like a closed off platform. That'll do it. He helps me get settled atop the horse, albeit rougher than I wanted, and without so much as a goodbye, he pats the snout of the animal, and I'm off. I'll arrive in about forty five minutes tops, and I'll need that time to rest as much as possible. 'Cause when I get there, it's going to be hell or high water for me...


	4. Chapter 4

Seduction of a King

Chapter 4

 **Rubble's POV**

Man, I really wish I could see what was bothering Marshall, but I gotta follow the rules the king has placed on us. At least I finished up those two golden statues King Chase wanted me to sculpt. So, now what? Eat some food? Nah. It's a bit late at night for that. Unless King Chase assigns me a project, I'm stuck with nothing else to do in the castle Lookout. Maybe I'll go see him and ask for something else to do. Heading up the spiral staircase to the throne room, I knock on the double doors. King Chase gives me the 'okay' to come in, and I do just that.

"Hello, Rubble, have a seat right in front of my throne, please. I have a task to ask of you." Wow, he must've read my mind.

Doing just as he asked, I sit my rump down, the throne looking more grandiose up close. "Yes, Sire?"

"I need to discuss business with my fellow King Humdinger. Can I entrust Adventure Bay to hold within your paws?"

I smile and sit up straight. "Absolutely, Your Majesty. Will I be rewarded?"

He sighs. "Name it."

"A feast, Sire! The largest one available!" I yell out, and then I add, much more quietly, "preferably with foods that last a while, Your Majesty..."

The King leans in closer to me. "I will _give you_ , what foods I give you. Understood?" he says in a rather abrupt but harsh tone.

My tummy rumbles. "Yes, Sire."

"So, you accept the responsibility, then, yes? Good. I know you follow my rules and orders around here, Rubble. I can at least trust in your servitude. So, with that, I will take my leave. A carriage has already been prepared in my stead." He hops off his throne and trots past me.

This is the first time I've seen him leave the Throne room with my own two eyes. It's truly a sight to behold, since the King usually has all his needs met within this very area. "Yes, Your Majesty," I say, hoping he heard me. Looks like I'm the new king for a bit. Now, I don't necessarily want to stay cooped up in this room all day, so I follow Chase downstairs to where our bedrooms are located. He stands in front of the entrance and shouts, "Alright, Rocky, Marshall, I want you out of your rooms now." Although he's shouting, the King says it in such a commanding tone that it doesn't quite come off as angry or upsetting.

Doing as they were told, the two pups saunter out of their rooms, with it being late at night now. Surely they're pretty tired. Why didn't he call Zuma, too, and where's Skye, as well? Rocky and Marshall sit in front of the King, and I stand beside him.

"What is it...?" Marshall mumbles, rubbing a closed eye with his front paw. His eyes are red and puffy, and I remember that he had been bawling his eyes out earlier. His eyes widen as he spots the King, and then hitches a breath, whimpering slightly and lowering his posture in cowardice and fear.

"I am going on a business trip to Foggybottom, and I will be back as soon as possible, but for the time being, I will leave Rubble in charge. Also, Zuma is no longer here due to his injury, he has been moved back in with his father."

Rocky's face is stern, his eyes like needles attempting to prod Chase's orbs. Marshall's jaw is open, letting out a gasp. "Wait a minute..." the Dally interjects, "so, you're leaving, and Zuma... is gone? For how long?" He tilts his head, slowly regaining the courage to stand up straight again.

"Yes, I'll be leaving for only a few days at most. And yes, Zuma is probably back with his father by now. He'll stay with him till he is prepared for duty once more."

Marshall nods a few times. "Okay. And..." He glances around. "Where's Skye?"

"Dungeon," he states matter-of-factly. "Till morning."

"Why is she in there?" Rocky asks.

"Doesn't matter, she'll be free in the morning."

Rocky and Marshall look at each other with concern.

Chase walks past us and leaves the castle Lookout. I hear a couple horses whinny and the clacking of hooves down the dirt path. And now I'm alone, in charge of these two. Easy peasy. I'll just go grab some food.

I overhear Rocky saying, "Hey, Marshall. I'm going to go check on Zuma."

"Oh, alright. Then... I can guess I can tag along with you, too." The dally smiles at the mix.

I turn around with a firm grimace written on my muzzle. "You two are staying here. You are not allowed to leave the premises."

They both frown. Rocky speaks up first. "The King is gone, Rubble. You're not a king. Not to mention, we now have the freedom to do whatever we want, yourself included. Doesn't that sound amazing?"

I admit, it sounds nice, but I have to follow Chase's rules. He's counting on me. If I fail, I'll have to go back to being just a renovation servant. That's something I just can't accept anymore. It's so dull, almost pointless, and boring. I want to part of something _more_. "I understand that, but I need to do this correctly. Perhaps the King may punish me if I don't?"

"That's the thing..." Rocky says, "he won't punish you if he can't. So, let's get rid of the King."

What? He can't be serious?! "Heh, you really think that ridiculous notion is a good idea? Do you know how powerful he is?"

"There's... power in numbers." The Dally stares at me with a timid posture, and yet, there's a tinge of fire burning in his eyes...

"Yes, yes there is. There's power in the thousands of soldiers he has trained and ready to deploy, too," I say.

The mix groans, yanking his head away from me. "You know, it doesn't have to be some grandstand act of war against the King or anything. It can be subtle."

"No, this is out of the question. You two stay here tonight, or I will be forced to have guards block your rooms till morning. Understood?"

Rocky and Marshall glance at each other, and the mix sighs and shrugs. "Ah, well, I guess we'll head to bed, Marshall." He winks at the Dally, and immediately, I know what they're up to.

Those two trot off to their own respective rooms, as if I didn't have a damn clue about what they were up to. Well, I'll just stay up for them and have guards posted in front of their rooms, anyway.

A couple hours go by, and I slouch down against the wall of the entrance to the cylindrical staircase, waiting for those two idiots to show up. Two guards are posted, bears, to hopefully scare them into submission. It sucks that I have to wait for them, sitting here. I've been thinking a lot. My position in the Royal Servants. I finally serve a bigger purpose, and there's no way in hell I'm going to give this up.

I hear a door creak open. My ears twitch as I follow the sound. It seems to be coming from behind me to my right... Rocky's room. Soon after, a yelp is heard. He noticed the bear. I smirk. Getting up from the wall, I move over to his location, and when I turn the corner, the door slams. Looks like he scratched his plan. Another door opens behind me, and I turn around, staring at the dally's expression when he sees the ginormous bear in front of him. His eyes widen and he pipes out a little squeak and slams his door closed, too. Well, that was easy. Looks like I can finally get some shut-eye tonight.

 **Zuma's POV (Slightly earlier in the night)**

I tried to slow down the time flow by keeping my mind as clear as possible throughout the horse ride, and for the most part, it was slightly easy. The horse's gait made my mind wandering near impossible, since I kept getting interrupted by a bump to my rear. In a way, it proved helpful, 'cause that's what I desired anyway, but now I've arrived at the shack. It stands on a hill a slight ways from town, since my father likes seclusion, especially after my mother's absence. The horse definitely did _not_ appreciate lugging me up that hill, though. After a torturous climb, the horse pauses in front of my past abode, and I know I have to somehow get off the animal without further injuring myself. I still feel sore and achy all over. Perhaps I can slide off the backside? Or maybe, I can ask it to lower itself? "Excuse me? Mistew howse, dude, can you lowew to the gwound so I can get off please?"

It drags its head to the left to get a better look at me, whinnies, and then I feel it descend to the grass below. Clambering out of the platform, I feel a slight strain in my front paws, back, where my wound is, and yes, even my butt. As much as I don't want to admit that last part. I make it out of that platform still in one piece, though, but I don't think my fate will be the same with this house. It looks brooding and grim, weathered and worn, the wood chipped and slivered. It has an upper balcony with broken railings, and the floor they rest upon is warped, as if one little feather were to delicately land on it, the whole piece would collapse. I take a few steps up the short flight of stairs leading to the front door, hearing them groan under the pressure of my paws. A plain wooden door stands in front of me, its ridges riddled with age and cracks. I reach my paw up to rap on the door, but it trembles a bit, and I don't know if it's the soreness getting to me or if I'm being apprehensive.

Three knocks tap against the door. I wait, and a short moment after, I hear foot paws pounding the wooden floor inside to oblivion. My father can walk on his hind legs: he's had a lot of practice. Gulping, I hear a couple locks being maneuvered, and then it swings open, revealing my father, towering over my scrawny body. He's the same species as me: chocolate labrador but much much larger. His eyes glare at me. He groans and walks back inside, leaving the door ajar. That's my que to head in, I guess.

The interior looks the same as I remember it several months ago, neat and organized. Staircase to my right, a kitchen behind it, to the left of the kitchen is the living room, and the upper floor holds three bedrooms. My father walks over to the living room, with a grey cushioned recliner in the corner and a similar couch near it but facing parallel to the left-most wall. A small rectangular table stands in the center between the two furniture pieces atop a large bear animal skin. He plops down on the recliner. Another circular one is in between the two residing in the corner. "Sit, Zuma. We have lots to discuss."

 _Discuss_ , he says. Yeah, right... "Yes, father." I do as I'm told and saunter over to the couch, sitting in the spot nearest to him, because if didn't, he'd berate me for sure. Just because I haven't been here in a long while doesn't mean I don't remember his triggers. My stance is rigid on the couch, my bum placed firm and spine as straight as his sexuality. That's right, my father had a wife. I _had_ a mother. She was lov-

"Hey!" He slams his fast down on the circular table. "You listenin' to me, you little shit?!"

My body jerks, eyes widen with fear, and my back arched downward, giving me a more startled yet also somewhat more professional, militant appearance. I grimace, the pain from my wound shooting up my spine. "Y-yes, siw?"

My father grumbles and grips the armrests on the recliner, his posture now slouched over with eyes piercing into my innards, twisting them inside. I have a stomachache, it feels so queasy, and I'm trembling. To think... I said I was used to this... heh, what a fool I am. King Chase's actions have made me soft. "I was asking you a question, and you had the _audacity_ to ignore me and shove that little head of yours up into the asshole of La-La-land? How. Fucking. Dare you..." The older lab bounces up from his seated position, nabs a dirty glass once filled with red wine on the table next to his recliner, and turns to me. He cocks his arm back, and my ears droop. It isn't long before I feel glass bombard my fur like a cannonball entwined with twig, burning with smoldering hot flames, and licking off my fur as if it were a harsh tongue made of pins and needles.

I scream. The glass shattering pierces my ears, and I want to cover them, but I want to hold my chest, too. It feels as if it's melting, peeling off, stinging and throbbing. Instead of sitting, I curl up in a ball on my side, still on the couch, trembling and groaning in sheer agony. I hear hind paws nearing me, and then I feel two more paws grip my backside.

My relationship with the couch gets torn away, and now I'm forced into the cold brute arms of my Ex, the floor. That couch and I were together for only five minutes... guess all love must be fleeting fantasy. My father spares no time in grasping my fur once more, this time the back of my neck, and proceeds to drag me away from the living room and over to the staircase. At least in the beginning I won't get rug rash, since most of the floor on the lower level is hardwood. The steps leading upstairs, however, are carpeted. As he yanks my hind leg behind him, I see the staircase coming into my view, and I close my eyes, not wanting to witness the earthquake about to shake my world apart.

One by one, my head bangs against each stair, all the while my body grinds against the seemingly harmless carpet fibers. They do much more damage than I want to admit. "You will talk to me when spoken to, understand?" he bellows, not even facing my direction. My head is cracking against the steps, so I am unable to reply. My father stops dead in his tracks, and I feel his grip tighten on my hind leg. The older lab turns around and grabs my other leg. And then he flips me over, sending me tumbling down the stairs. My body twists and contorts in unimaginable ways. I can't even tell what's going on; I can only feel the pain. When I feel the hardwood floor again, I know it has ended... for now. Groaning and dizzy, I try to get up but fail to regain my bearings. My father clambers down the steps and lurches down, gripping me once more and lifting me up high. My head rushes with blood, the whole world spinning in circles. I feel an uncertain sensation building deep down my throat. He places me right in front of his face, teeth bared. "Why didn't you fight back, dammit?! I sent you there... to learn how to do just that! And you come home... and fuckin' do the same shit!"

The air is knocked out of me as I'm sent flying to the floor yet again. "This can all end, Zuma... if you just. Fight. Back." He purses his lips, and for once in my life... I see a glimmer in my father's eyes, a sad tinge to them. And then he bends down and points at me with a clawed finger. "My _fucking_ father was a sorry, worthless piece of shit! Just like you! He achieved nothing in life! And neither will you if you don't get into shape..." And that brief moment is now gone, as if it almost never existed...

But I... don't want that. That's not... who I am. "I know... what your father didn't do. I don't care." He's not the King. I don't have to be professional. I don't need to recite. I can be, _me_. "You keep comparing me to him, but I'm not him! I'm me!" I place both my front paws behind me to elevate my upper half slightly, looking him in the eyes. "You don't control my life." He shoves his hind paw into my stomach, and I hack up blood in response, my front paws losing their footing. I curl up on my side, clutching my stomach, groaning.

"I do control it. Last time I checked, I'm your father. You are my son, not even of age to move out yet. You are under my jurisdiction. So get used to it."

This is hopeless. What was I thinking? Doing that? I'm a fucking idiot... what am I supposed to do? I don't want to fight back. I don't want to hurt him. He's my father. It's wrong. He wants me to be like him, a tax collector. I can't... do that. It destroys so many people.

I wheeze and hack some more. My father towers above me. "Get to bed. It's late. You'll be doing work for me tomorrow, so you'll need to be well rested."

It's only 9pm. But if I disobey... it'll be bad, so I struggle to all fours. "Y-yes, siw." My whole body, my wound, my head, my chest, _everywhere_ , hurts as if hell had burned my fur inside and out for more than a thousand years. He walks off into the kitchen area, probably to fix up some feast for himself, while I survive on scraps. With him out of the way, I now have a new obstacle in my path: the dreaded stairs again. And this time, I need to go just as slow as I did before with visiting Rocky. Oh man, how I wish I could see him again.

It takes me half an hour just to get up the stairs. At least this flight isn't as long as the spiral staircase back at the castle Lookout. I make my way to my bedroom, it being the most barren area in the house, with not a single possession to my name other than furniture. It isn't cheap, though. It's quality like the rest of the house. Outfitted with a dresser, a bed, and a night stand, that's all I really need in the eyes of my father. I climb onto my bed with only a mattress to its name and curl up. I don't need sheets: I don't sleep like that. As much as this place is a bundle of joy... I'd like to be in the castle Lookout again. But at this point... my injuries will never heal, since I'll only get more. Did the King even think this through? Did he even care about the payments my father sent him? Or did he just finally want me out of his fur? Well, one thing's for sure... I'm not staying in this house. I just... can't get out on my own. Rocky, please, _save me_.


	5. Chapter 5

Seduction of a King

Chapter 5

 **Rocky's POV**

I'm up early to go ahead and check on Zuma. He needs my help, I know it, though I'm not quite sure what his father does to him, but I do know that it ain't good at all. Heading over to Marshall's room, I pass by Skye's, I notice that the door is slightly ajar, and I furrow my brows at this sight. The cockapoo usually keeps her door closed for maximum privacy. Perhaps Marshall won't mind if I take a little detour...

Knocking on her door, I wait a moment before it opens, the cockapoo nudging it open with her snout. "Oh, well hello there, Rocky. What brings you here to my doorstep?"

She makes it sound like it's her house or something. Heh, how funny. "I heard you spent some time in the dungeon. Did they hurt you?"

She glances away from me, the open-hearted demeanor she previously showed diminished. "Yes... I'm afraid I can't show you, though, as it is on the underside, and... you know what's down there."

I blush a little. "Ah, oh... right. Understood. Well, then, I gotta get going. Marshall and I are going over to see Zuma. Perhaps you'd like to tag along?"

Her timid expression changes to one of pure ferocity. "Yes. Of course. I'll help in anyway I can. We leave soon, correct?"

I nod. "Yeah, just let me grab Marshall, and we'll depart immediately. I suggest bringing some gold for the horse, as I nor Marshall have much money."

"The King does pay me somewhat handsomely for my work... and I now know why... the bastard."

An open opportunity. "I'm assuming you hate the new King, yes?"

"Yes, that's right. After I figured out what my role has been doing to innocent lives, I can no longer respectfully serve the King any longer."

"Well, Marshall and I, as well as Zuma, have the same sentiment. The King has left on a business trip, leaving Rubble in charge. If we ever had a chance to strike, now would be the time."

She smiles. "I'm with you on that one. I'll be out in a few."

"Got it. See you soon."

With that, she closes the door, and I head over to Marshall. As I rap on his door, it opens faster than Skye's, and there he is, already stepping out of the entryway. His gait is off, though: it's sluggish and almost stiff-like. "Did you sleep well, Marshall?"

He passes by me and doesn't turn around before replying, "Not really, I think the combination of being scared to death by that bear and being emotionally unstable killed it."

Emotionally unstable? What does he mean by that? In that moment, I'm reminded of his face last night, his puffy red eyes, the downtrodden expression on his lonesome face. My fellow Royal Servants... all this time... have been hiding so much pain. Is it... the King? "I see. Well, you're going to need all the energy you got for this. I don't know what may happen. We'll be heading for a stable to rent horses. Sleep on the ride there."

He lets go of a heavy sigh, his body sulking. "I can't sleep on a horse. Just meet me outside."

Looks like I blew that one. What am I supposed to respond to that? Am I even obligated to solve or delve into his life? "Okay," I say, watching him saunter down to the exit.

I guess it's back to Skye's room, hopefully she's ready by no-

"Get out of my way!" I hear Marshall yell.

My head jerks back, and I hear a door whipping open, probably Skye's, and I see Rubble standing between the dally and the exit. Marshall growls at the bulldog, but he doesn't budge, and in fact, he even has a solemn expression on his face. "You know... you may have been bawling last night, but that doesn't mean I'm going to disobey the King's orders for your little pity party to save Zuma."

I rush over to the dally's side. "What's he giving you in return?!" I shout. "I never expected you to go this low, Rubble. We may be forbidden to converse with each other, but we're family. Family... don't stab their members in the back."

"Family?!" Rubble scoffs. "We are not family. We may live in the same place, but we hardly _know_ each other. A family is supposed to be connected. And would ya look at that! _We_ , are definitely not that. Not to mention... to answer your first question, Rocky, I'm getting a feast of magnificent proportions."

"Selling us out for grub... sickening. Let us through, or this may not end well," I respond, giving him a cool, icy glare to deal with.

He laughs. "Oh, is that supposed to scare me? You and that leg of yours? Oh, wait, I'm sorry, it's not a leg... it's a stump, cripple."

I've heard it all before... no need to get angry. Besides, I don't have a weapon at the moment. I really can't do much without a small sword for teeth-wielding. Maybe Marshall knows how to fight? I glance over to the dally, his stance still lowered and ready to pounce. I sure hope so. I can't do much with only three legs, or at least, I'm at a disadvantage. "Everything alright here?" I hear Skye ask, appearing behind me just slightly in my peripheral vision.

"He won't let us through!" Marshall yells as he turns around to face Skye.

"I see... are you sure this is what you want, Rubble?" She steps in front of Marshall and I, now closest to the bulldog. "You're creating a pretty large divide between us for a king based on fear and coercion, rather than respect. You should rethink your motives here."

"I follow whoever is in rule. As long as I get something out of it in return, then, I'll do what it takes."

"But you're not," she spits back immediately. "You're the royal renovator. You don't do much, hardly get assigned any tasks unlike the rest of us, and when you do, it's for something of an awfully minor scale. I'd say these are pretty diminishing returns."

I watch the bulldog lower his head in frustration, gritting his teeth. "Just go, get out of my sight. I don't want you back here until he returns."

Skye looks back at me, and I shrug at her, mouthing a quick thank you before proceeding toward the exit. We all leave the castle Lookout after her. The sky is a pale yellow, the sun rising over the horizon. Time is crucial, and so, we rush on over to a horse stable a short ways in town. It's a small comfy little place, offering only five horses, but it will have to do. You know, I haven't stepped outside often enough to really notice how bad Adventure Bay has become. I've been stuck inside forging weapons. All the more reason to knock Chase off the throne.

As we reach the stable, it immediately becomes apparent to me that they don't have enough for all three of us, and only one boy was working. I've only heard about this place; I've never actually seen it for myself. The smell of hay and horse dung contorts my nasal pathways. I watch the boy in charge tend to a horse near the end of the stable, and he turns to us, his long brown hair naturally sticking up and waving slightly at the sudden gesture. I don't believe my eyes. Standing before us... is our old king. Instead of fancy red robes and a golden crown, he now has a thin clothed shirt and short combo, both grimy and ratted with holes.

The old King recognizes us with widened eyes. "Oh, well hello Rocky, Skye, Marshall! I haven't seen you pups in ages!" He stands up from his crouched position.

I run over and jump on him, giving him a bunch of licks on the face, and the other pups do the same. Soon, his face is slick and smothered in slobber, but it's slobber coated with love, so it's okay. He begs us to stop, but we take a few more licks for good measure before halting the barrage. The boy regains his bearings and stands back up. "What brings you pups out here?" Ryder wipes off his face with his sleeve as he awaits our reply.

"We'd like some horses, we're going to rescue Zuma from his father," I say.

"Ah, well... I only have two at the moment, and I see that there are three of you."

"We'll take whatever we can get, Sire," the cockapoo interjects. "We need to get there post haste."

He chuckles at her comment. "Sire? I'm not your king anymore, pups, as much as I still want to be."

"We want you back, Your Majesty!" Marshall says, strain in his voice. "I... want Chase back to normal... he's all I have left."

I stare at the dally. I don't know his parental situation, but perhaps it's more dire than I once thought. We all had to give up our parents to be here, but perhaps Marshall doesn't have any to give up. The boy drops down on his knees and purses his lips at Marshall. "Well, we'll just have to do something about that, huh?"

"You'll help us?" the dally asks, his eyes glimmering with hope.

Ryder glances away for a moment before reaching over and placing his hand on the dally's shoulder. "I can't do much to help you guys, but I'm sure if you all worked together, something will surely come of it." The boy smiles.

Marshall turns his head around and eyes us, a worried expression written all over his features. I flash him a cheery grin, hoping that'd reassure the dally, but he just glances downward and averts his attention back to Ryder. "Okay, can you at least give us those two horses then?"

"Mhm. Can do. Go ahead and take them, free of charge." Ryder gets back up and releases the horses from their respective holding blocks.

He places a saddle platform on each of them, so that we can all ride atop the horses, and after doing so, Marshall and I climb aboard one that lowered itself for us. Skye clambers onto the other. It's a white one with brown spots. Before we depart once more, we wave to our former king, and I watch Marshall stare off ahead soon after, a stern expression on his face. I seriously wonder what we're going to encounter in that house. I know Zuma's father treats him poorly, noting his reaction in the infirmary, but I just don't know _how poorly_.

I look behind me; the stable is fading away into the distance. My eyes gravitate toward Marshall once more, and he's quiet, staring at the town and pedestrians. It's becoming a bright morning, the sun peeking even more over the horizon, giving the dally's fur a yellow glow. Such a beautiful sight, and yet, Marshall's expression doesn't falter. "Hey, Marshall?" I ask, prodding his front leg with my paw.

He swivels his head toward mine, brows slightly creased, with his blue orbs searching for something within mine. Is it answers? "Yes?"

"You look down, what's wrong?"

He sighs. "I know we're on our way to get Zuma back and hopefully dethrone the King together, but for some reason... I feel like it'll all be pointless in the end."

I tilt my head a bit. "And why's that?"

He looks away. "He won't come back. Even if we get him off the throne and Ryder becomes king again, he won't come back, because I've been trying for months on end to get him back to his senses. Nothing."

"He'll come back, and once he's out of that position, there will be no need to act that way. Besides, what have you been trying, anyway?"

"I've been trying to do my performances perfectly so that he won't have anything to laugh at. Maybe then, he'll get so mad... that he'll realize the errors of his ways when he does something so inexplicably horrible to me."

That's insanity. "Marshall, look what he did to Zuma with no mercy. I think your plan isn't going to work."

He grits his teeth and growls at me. "You think I need to hear that from you, too?! You think I don't know it's not working?! What _else_ am I supposed to do, Rocky?"

I back up a step to the wall of the platform. Unfortunately, there's not a lot of room on this platform to defend myself against an angered dally. "He... he likes you, Marshall. You know this. He hasn't been himself. Remember all the fun you guys had under the old king? How much freedom? We used to _talk_ to each other! You two were inseparable! And you know why he chose you as the King's Jester again? Because he wants to be close to you as much as possible. He wants an excuse to be close to you all the time."

The dally doesn't make eye contact with me for a while, only gazes off at the washed out yellow sky. "He's beaten me, laughed at me, mocked me. What part of that feels like _love_ to you, Rocky?"

I'm losing this fight, dammit. Gotta think. "I know... but like I said, he's had a lot of time and pressure to change into the monster he is now. He's not himself. He still loves you, but he does so in a different form now, showing it in any way he can, even if it's negative. You just gotta read between the lines, Marshall, that's all."

The dally continues to gaze anywhere but at me. After a few moments pass, he turns toward me with wide eyes as if he saw a ghost, but he wasn't pale, no, he looked as if he had been enlightened. "Rocky, that's it! I just have to love him! All this time I've been trying to bring out the worst in him, but I need to go in the opposite direction. I need to let him know I love him."

I smile. "That's it, Marshall. You got it." As I stare off into the yellow sky, I notice a lush green hill not too far off. It looks like we've almost made it.

When we pull up to the house and tie the horses to edge posts of the porch, the three of us approach the wooden shack. It's awfully quiet other than the creaking sounds we make stepping on the weak wood. I stare at the door knob slightly above my head with furrowed brows. One of us has to get on two legs and turn it somehow. We all gaze at Marshall with knowing smiles, and for once in what feels like a long while, he laughs a bit, realizing he's the only one agile enough to stand on two hind legs. All of us step aside to let the dally go to work. He works the knob with his paws, ultimately failing to get a good grasp the first few tries, but each new attempt brings forth more results, and soon, he turns it enough to where he can lean in to push the door open.

Realizing the door didn't need too much force a little too late, the dally decides to grip onto the doorknob for dear life and lifts his hind legs up, squealing as his body follows the door quickly swinging open. I giggle a little at the sight, obviously getting that excess garbage off his chest has opened him up a bit more. That's good. After the door hits where the hinge's reach ends, the sudden jerk topples the dally down to the wooden floor below, and before he gets up, he says, "I'm good!"

We all burst into a small laughing fit. This door must be really loose 'cause it just swung right open with the tiniest pressure. I mean, it makes sense; the house is quite old and worn down, after all. The dally gets up from his fall and stands tall and proud, grinning wild to himself, eyes closed and chin held high. "Ha! If you think a fall like that is gonna stop this dally, then you got another thing coming!"

I chuckle. "Who exactly is trying to stop you, Marshall?"

He hums for a moment, swaying his head and smiling, eyes pointed upward in thought. And then, he stops. " _This house_ ," he drawls, pretending to sound spooky with a sinister smirk on his muzzle.

"What, is it haunted or something?" Skye asks, still giggling at the dally's sudden goofiness.

"By Zuuuuuma~," the dally cooes, and then he chuckles before he attempts to imitate a ghastly wail.

The laughter seizes. Marshall's smile nearly turns upside down, but flattens out in the end instead. "W-what? Did I say something bad?"

Even I refuse to laugh at that joke. "I... that would imply he's dead, Marshall."

He drops his head low, ears drooping. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that. I was just so caught up in the moment that I didn't notice the consequences of my words. Sorry, guys."

"Just keep yourself in check from now on, okay, Marshall? I know you feel a bit better now and all, but we're here for a specific purpose, and it's definitely not to goof around. Understood?" I give him a firm glare with my eyes.

"Yessir..." The dally turns around and sulks into the house, and we follow suit.

We split up and examine the interior for my, I mean, _our_ precious labrador. All of the first floor spits out zero signs of Zuma, except we found glass shards shattered all over the living room rug. That's either an accident or an intentional casualty. And when we head over to the staircase to check the upper level, I catch Marshall almost stepping on something on the wood. "Marshall! Hold it! Don't move."

He freezes mid-step and darts his head left and right in frantic motions. "W-w-what? What is it?"

I trot near his position and examine the floor, and just as I suspected when I saw the flash of red, it's blood. Only a few splattered droplets, but it's odd placement is enough to cause concern. Could it be Zuma's? It's got to be, 'cause the chances that the lab would fight back against his father is next to none. "You two, there's blood on the floor, and I believe it belongs to Zuma. It's right next to the staircase, so please hurry and check upstairs for him," I command with a firm tone. They nod and rush up the steps. Perhaps Zuma began to bleed out due to a glass object being thrown at him? Wouldn't there be more blood, though? And depending on the impact, the injury may not even bleed at all because of the shards' sporadic trajectory. Something else must've happened at these stairs. But what?

"Rocky!" I hear foot paws clambering down the steps. Skye's voice. The cockapoo lands back onto the first floor with a thud thundering against the wood and continues, "no sign of Zuma up there either. Sorry, Rocky."

I grumble, glancing down at the dry blood stain. "It's alright, I guess we'll have to look around town." _Dammit,_ Zuma, where are you, and what has your father done to you this time?


End file.
